


Dust to Dust

by avidvampirehunter, Cocoon02



Category: Final Fantasy XIII Series, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (Just Because You Don't Know the Characters Doesn't Mean You're Unwelcome Here), (but not for the protagonists), (what is Hope? lol), A LOT of Historical Inaccuracy (Probably), Adventure, Alternate Universe - Western, Crossover, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hope is Adorable, Like - Lots of Pregnancy, Literally Babies Everywhere, Midwife Vanille, Miscarriage, Outlaw Ben, Pregnancy, Rated M for Mostly Happy with a Pinch of Sad, Rey is Trying Her Best™, Smut, Some Humor, This Whole Thing was Literally Made Up as we Went Along, Vanille is Better than Everyone, Wild West, ben is an idiot, bounty hunter rey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidvampirehunter/pseuds/avidvampirehunter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocoon02/pseuds/Cocoon02
Summary: A twist of fate, a stroke of luck, and the rule of misfortune; what would you do to save the one you love?When outlaw “Bad Luck Ben” Solo is hired to protect a growing family on their journey to the western frontier, he is once again faced with the love of his life: a bounty hunter out for his blood.Together, they join forces to help Hope and Vanille Estheim, a young, bright-eyed couple preparing to have their first child. The road is long, and the journey is perilous, but the power of love conquers all.Even fate itself.(A Star Wars/ Final Fantasy XIII Crossover - Please see opening notes for details)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all!
> 
> This is avidvampirehunter. If you are here coming from (and for) Star Wars fandom content, I have a few links for you: Here are images of [Hope Estheim](https://hero.fandom.com/wiki/Hope_Estheim) and [Oerba Dia Vanille](https://finalfantasy.fandom.com/wiki/Oerba_Dia_Vanille), characters from the Final Fantasy XIII series, so that you, my sweet Reylos, can see what they look like.
> 
> Although this is technically a crossover between video game and film, this obviously can seem like a reach to some. We are very aware. BUT. This story is actually a roleplay between myself and Cocoon02 that we began back in September of 2017.
> 
> What's different about this story from our others is that we truly wrote it together. As irl friends from high school, our shared love of fanfiction inspired us to roleplay back and forth over text. And from that, this monstrosity was born.
> 
> I'm not kidding when I say that this story is novel-length, and is perhaps one of the greatest things I have ever had the privilege to write. Both Cocoon02 and I have agreed that the time we spent on it warrants a place where it can live on beyond the memory in our phones, though it will always remain dear to our hearts.
> 
> We hope you enjoy "Dust to Dust"!

* * *

  **NORTH AMERICA**

**1861**

* * *

 (~*~)

Hope Estheim, a rather intelligent man for his time, smiles like a fool as he politely avoids people down the road, itching to get home to his wife, Vanille, who is with child. He carries two train tickets in his pocket, which cost him more than he generally likes to spend, but no price is too high for family.

He tips his hat in a friendly fashion at their elderly neighbors out on their porch, and whistles when he enters his house, announcing his arrival.

A small, whipping whistle echoes from the foyer. The old floorboards creak under his weight as Hope passes the staircase, entering to find Vanille sitting peacefully on the loveseat, knitting a bundle of pink over her swollen belly.

She looks up at him serenely. “Welcome home, Darling.”

Hope smiles and sits beside her—not before dusting off his pants, of course, and taking care not to disturb her knitting. “You look radiant today, my love,” he says. He kisses her cheek sweetly, and then swipes a strand of her hair that he displaced back behind her ear. “I got the tickets today.”

She squeals quietly, grinning and overflowing with anticipation. She sets down her project to look in his eyes. “Wonderful! All that’s left now is to pack. Oh, Hope, I’m so excited to get out of this crowded place and see the wide open spaces the papers talk about…”

Hope chuckles at her wanderlust, and at the stars in her eyes. “As am I, the city is too dangerous with so many people about.” He touches her belly gently. “But are you sure you want to leave before our child is born? We’re comfortable here, it’s only a few more months.”

Vanille shakes her head in pleasant dismissal. “I’m sure. I want her to come into the world in her new home, with her family.”

Hope cannot remove the smile from his face. “You’re an amazing woman. Our daughter is very lucky to have you as her mother.”

Vanille’s nose wrinkles sweetly, but as Hope leans in for a real kiss, there is a knock at the door.

“Bah,” Hope rises, a bit annoyed at this turn of events, “I’ll get that.”

While he’d much rather continue the train of intimacy with his wife, he proceeds to answer the door.

He almost wrenches it open, but on the other side of the door is an old friend. Hope’s frown loosens up. “Sazh? What are you doing here?”

Sazh is generally a jolly man, just a hair past forty and more energy than he ought to have, but at the moment he seems more serious than usual. “I hear you picked up tickets for you and your lady to head out west.”

“You hear right. Come on in,” he ushers, not wanting to keep company out in the heat.

Sazh takes off his hat respectfully, coming in to find Vanille on the couch. He bows his head. “Ma’am.”

Vanille smiles pleasantly, putting down her knitting project more permanently this time. “Good evening, Mr. Katzroy. Can I offer you a drink?”

“Ah,” he waves his hand. “No thank you, Mrs. Estheim. I’m only here for a spell, no need to fix anythin’ special.”

“Well, if you say so,” she replies, “but feel free to change your mind.”

“What brings you here?” Hope asks, pulling up a chair for the older man to use as he takes a seat once again beside Vanille. “Surely our travel plans aren’t that exciting.”

“Mm, actually, not too far from,” Sazh smiles nervously. “I just wanted to warn ya’ll that… well, goin’ out west ain’t always so peachy-keen.”

Hope expected such a protest from a fatherly figure like Sazh. “We know it’s hard, and a mite dangerous, but hardly more than living here. We’re at the edge of Eastern civilization as it is.”

“I know that, but…” Sazh scratches his temple with a finger, not knowing how best to elaborate. These two are so young, so full of hope and promise, he can’t help but want to give them the best. “...Aw, heck, why don’t the two of you come to the first-class cars when you go, and I’ll make sure you get out west as comfortable as possible.”

Vanille quietly gasps, completing the gesture with a hand over her chest. “Sazh, that’s a lovely thought, but we can’t afford it…”

“Oh, it’s nothing at all! Consider it a perk of my position as _conductor_ of Oerba Express,” he shrugs with a sheepish pride, fiddling with his jacket. “Besides, the first-class car only has one passenger this time. Plenty of room for you and your,” he winks, _“luggage.”_

Hope nods gratefully. “Thank you, Sazh, we really appreciate it.” In truth, he’d much rather have Vanille in the spacious first-class car, where she and the baby can rest more comfortable than crammed further back in the train.

After a brief and pleasant exchange, Sazh Katzroy takes his leave. The darkness encroaching the floorboards begins to inch up the wallpaper, and Hope lights the kerosene lamp. “I’ll pack the rest of our things in the morning. There’s only so much we can bring, but I can build the rest.”

“Just don’t let me sleep in so late again,” Vanille scolds teasingly, packing her knitting away, “you can’t do _everything_ by yourself.” She stands, ironically feeling rather heavy and tired, and more than ready to put on her nightgown.

As soon as she’s up, Hope sweeps her into his arms. “Maybe so, but there are a few things I prefer to do… _myself.”_

Vanille wraps her own arms around his neck while fighting the nagging thought that she’s too heavy for him. “Oh, and you’re very good at them.”

He nuzzles her as he walks her into the bedroom, laying her on the quilt with a kiss. “I’d hope so.”

She giggles a little, then sighs in contentment. “Is there anything you’d prefer to do tonight?”

Hope chuckles, pointedly smoothing a hand over her bulging tummy. “Well… we’ve already done _that…”_

Vanille places a hand on her belly as well, eagerly awaiting the birth of this, their first child, whom they both believe is a girl. “Sure, _that_ we’ve done.” She moves her hand on top of his and squeezes. “But maybe you can still help me take this dress off?”

The rest of their evening is filled with loving fulfillments of more than the disrobing sort. Meanwhile, in a seedy tavern not far from their house, the evening settling on the pink horizon, a tall, dark gentleman wanders in.

The bartender doesn’t acknowledge him beyond a cursory nod, but keeps an eye out. Something about him seems familiar…

The man sits, nodding back to the bartender and holding up the gesture for whiskey. The stool seems small beneath him, but at least it’s holding up. Most usually break by now.

The bartender obliges, thinking that if this stranger is a criminal, he can at least get some money out of him.

He takes it thankfully, and barely gets in a swallow when a hand spins him into the face of a grisly miner. What a man like that is doing in the city, he doesn’t know.

Still, this doesn’t stop the new arrival from breathing hot into his face. “Heeey, I seen ya’ before!”

The dark stranger—as politely as possible—takes the miner’s blackened hand from his coat. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

Thinking himself rid of the nuisance, he lifts the drink to his lips only to be shoved by this little man. Most of the amber spills over the rim, splashing into his lap, dripping from his chin.

The bartender halfheartedly intervenes with a sharp, “Hey, don’t make a mess.”

The stranger nearly growls at the accusation, displeased that the bartender feels no need to get this greasy old-timer off of him.

How could he expect anything else?

The little man gets in his face. “No, I know it. You’re Bad Luck Ben Solo! The worst criminal this side of the Orient! I’d recognize that ugly mug anywh—!”

Before he can continue, Ben Solo spits what little remains in his mouth right in the man’s face, glaring as he wipes the leftover dribble from his lips.

The miner swiftly falls into a blind, tipsy rage, swinging his fist directly at the stranger’s nose.

Years of misfortune can pay off sometimes. As soon as the miner swings, the stool shatters beneath Ben, sending him toppling to the ground—relatively unharmed.

The bartender, who knows the miner well, reaches over the counter to grab the drunken fool’s soiled shirt before he can strike again. “Enough, John! This man ain’t done nothin’ tonight, let him alone.”

“Bah! Fine, then.” He looms over Ben, whose hat has fallen to the ground to reveal a quaffed and posh young man, and points sternly down. “But this brat ain’t no good. You better watch yerself in this here town, y’hear?”

“Out, John, or you’ll be payin’ for his drinks.” The bartender nods at the exit, having no qualms about losing this particular customer tonight. He’ll be back.

John swears under his breath, spitting tobacco on the top of Ben’s fallen hat on his way out.

Glaring, Ben rises and puts it on anyway, pulling up an unused stool and motioning for a refill.

The bartender snorts, but gives it to him. “I knew you looked familiar. ‘Bad Luck,’ eh? I could pay off a few tabs for turning you in.”

Ben smirks, taking the drink in peace. He tilts it in quiet toast to the man. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“No, I reckon I wouldn’t.” The bartender pours a drink of his own, returning the toast, weighing his options. “Wouldn’t be the last, neither. You never stay locked up long.”

Ben chuckles darkly, the liquor worming its way into his mood. “In my experience, anything that can go wrong, _will_ go wrong.” He raises the glass to his lips. “And it spreads like wildfire.”

The bartender grunts. “Ain’t that the truth.” He takes a large swig. “So what’re you doin’ out here, boy?”

He huffs. No matter how much he’s grown, how many doorframes he stoops under, he can never escape that “boy” name. But still, he sees no harm in obliging. “Yearly visit. To my mother.” He swirls the amber around. It’s bitter. “I’ll be heading back west soon enough.”

The bartender nods. “Aye, an honorable trip. Most folks’re burning to escape their parents.” He takes another swig. “‘Course, I’m no different. Hated my Pa, came here as soon as I could.”

Ben can relate. His own father was never one for… well, being a father.

He takes another sip.

The bartender sets down his drink and rounds the corner to pick up the broken stool pieces. “Don’t make things like they used to, eh?”

Ben grunts and helps, frowning as he lays the legs to rest on the bar. “No.” He almost smiles. “No, they don’t.”

After picking up all that can be bothered, the bartender says in a joking tone, “Now I know they call ya’ ‘Bad Luck,’ but that don’t count for your cash, does it?”

Now Ben outright laughs, low and sardonic as it is, pulling out a few extra than necessary—for the stool. He slams it on the counter, finishes his drink, and points to the stairs going up. “You got a room?”

The bartender counts his money and nods. “Yup, two you can choose from. Usually throw the blackouts in there, but lucky for you it’s slow tonight.”

Ben adds to the cash pile, not worried for change, and takes the bottle up with him at the tip of a hat. “Until morning, then. I trust it’s unlocked?”

“Nothin’s locked here but the safe, so keep that money to yourself.”

He shakes the half-full whiskey bottle, wordlessly signaling that the leftovers will go towards it and whatever damage may come overnight. He’s been through this before—and, with his luck, will be many times again.

(~*~)

As the world makes its faithful turn, the sun inevitably rises the next morning over the unlucky stranger and the couple in love, its cold light sweeping over the rooftops as they all unwittingly awaken for a journey.

A journey that will change _everything._


	2. Chapter 2

Vanille feels guilty watching her husband pack their things in the first-class loading car—both at the effort it takes him and the wonderful effort he _exerts._

Hope feels good about being able to do such things as pack for Vanille, when so many families are kept apart by work. They aren’t taking much, but every case he moves is worth it.

Sazh, fully dressed in his tight, red conductor’s uniform, comes beside Vanille. “I see you haven’t packed t’much, eh?”

Vanille shakes her head. “I think the baby has more things than we do. Gifts from Hope’s parents, you see.” She absentmindedly touches her stomach. “He says he can build or buy anything we don’t have once we get there.”

Sazh smiles. “Yes. He had always dreamed of th’ simple life! Full of love—with you.” He pats her shoulder. “I’ll miss you both.”

Unable to contain herself, Vanille gives their old friend a hug. “We’ll miss you, too… We’ll write, I promise, as much as we can.”

He laughs, if only to hold back bitter, but joyful, tears. “And I’ll… drive a train.”

Hope finishes loading their things, and gives the two a smile as he walks over. “That’s everything, we’re ready.”

A crewmember comes to speak in a hushed tone to Sazh. Sazh nods, and the boy shuffles away. “We’re still missin’ a few passengers. It’s required to wait another five minutes ‘fore the train departs. I suggest you two get comfy.”

Hope nods. “Thanks again, Sazh. We owe you.” He offers his arm to Vanille and settles them in their seats.

Being alone in the train car is very strange for the both of them, especially since they’ve only seen first class in passing. Hope feels like he’s dirtying the entire car just by sitting.

They aren’t alone for long. As they speak softly to one another, lovingly and full of hope, a tall stranger enters the car. Upon seeing the lady, he tips his hat, and silently strides to his seat—far away from them.

Hope frowns a bit, but feels that they could have a worse traveling companion. He doesn’t appear to have much, if any, luggage, so he assumes his home is out west.

Vanille smiles at her husband, patting his leg. “Oh, stop. He seems nice,” she whispers.

Hope adjusts his collar. “He just has a peculiar look about him, that’s all. I don’t mean anything by it.”

Unbeknownst to them, Ben Solo, upon the notice of this woman’s obvious pregnancy, felt it would be best to keep as far from her as possible. There is a bounty on his head for a reason—though, not the most appropriate one.

Before Vanille can chastise her husband further, the whistle cries and the train lurches forward.

Hope, much like a child, watches out the window as the landscape slides past. “This is it, we’ve left our home.” He takes Vanille’s hand and continues to watch as the trees and other foliage become a blur.

His wife gazes out as well, while the hours pass. Ben can occasionally hear their excited cooing. By the sound of them, they couldn’t afford luxury quarters like these. (Yes, he can recognize such things). Unfortunately, Ben’s usual private—isolated—accommodations now feel more like a risk to these people than he would prefer.

Hope occasionally glances back at their fellow passenger, wondering who he is and if it would be inappropriate to introduce himself. After all, even though the train cannot take them all the way out west, the trip will still take several days.

In the silence, the train rumbles and drives headlong into a maelstrom of rain. It patters gently against the windows, lulling Vanille to sleep against Hope’s shoulder. Whatever his doubts are, he decides, will be solved in due time.

Thus the first day of the train trip is largely uneventful—other than a few kicks from the baby. Sazh even comes back to visit with them a few times, though only for a short while, as he is a very dedicated worker.

The torrent doesn’t let up when dawn comes, even as they travel further into the barren dustbowl regions. Sure enough, the rain and dirt create sopping mud on the rails. The train slows, and then stops altogether.

Ben frowns. Of course this would happen.

Hope has a bad feeling about this, but since there’s nothing he can do, he continues to sit protectively by Vanille’s side. “Perhaps there’s a blockage on the tracks,” he speculates calmly. “Sazh will have us moving again soon, I’m sure.”

Vanille nods, humming. “I’m not worried.” It’s true, for the most part. If anything she has no more than a combination of pregnancy pains and a wee bit of travel sickness to worry about! And even with these, she is content.

Meanwhile, Ben has a sneaking suspicion, an eerie sensation crawling up his spine. Though plagued with the worst of luck these last six years, he has always held within him a most uncanny intuitive ability. It’s saved his life on numerous occasions—another such occasion he can feel right now, at this very moment.

_Something is going to happen on this train._

There is a strange silence for several more minutes, rendered even more monotonous and threatening by the rain outside. It’s as though the three of them were the only people in the world.

Until…

There is a _pop_ and screaming from the car behind them. Hope rises, drawing his pistol. Placing a gentle, protective hand over his wife, he says, “Get down, Vanille, and stay as low as possible.”

Understandably frightened, Vanille ducks as low between the seats as she can, a task made more difficult due to her growing belly.

The stranger rises and paces closer to them. Hope notices that his long trenchcoat hangs limp, draped over his arm. Standing only slightly taller than Hope, the man offers it to him. “Use this. It will help her blend into the shadows. No one will find her.”

Normally, Hope would distrust the stranger’s help, but in this instance he immediately covers Vanille with the coat, whispering a quick and quiet reassurance.

Ben glances down to scrutinize this man’s drawn pistol. “A revolver—only eight shots. It may not be enough,” he warns. As he speaks another gunshot sounds, as if to prove his next point. “You’ll need backup.”

Hope grunts. His father had given him this gun, and it hadn’t failed him yet. “Are you offering yourself?”

Ben shrugs, pulling out a few pistols of his own from the backside of his belt—the gesture lacks the western flourish. They are slick-black, the kind a man in first-class is expected to have.

However, Hope finds it odd that a wealthy man would rather sling bullets than sip wine and cower. He decides, after another scream, not to care. “Fine,” he huffs. “I’ll go first.”

Upon hearing this exchange, Vanille shrugs further into the coat, keeping a hand on her tummy and praying for their safety.

True to his word, Hope takes point, slinks into the next car, gun aimed forward, finger off the trigger to avoid any unnecessary incident.

The car is empty of antagonists, for now, but signs of a scuffle are evident on the terrified faces of seated passengers. Hope leans over to a rather composed young woman. “Ma’am? This man and I are here to help. Could you tell us where he went?”

The woman looks up at him with her blank expression, something about which sends chills up Hope’s spine. “Why sir,” she says, “whatever do you mean?”

For a moment, Hope is confused. Perhaps she had missed the gunfire? Had not understood him?

But Ben doesn’t miss a beat. Standing just behind her chair, he extends his arm to point the end of his gun against her temple.

Hope jumps, mortified by the sight, and the seemingly _bored_ expression on the stranger’s face. “W-What are you _doing?!”_

Even this doesn’t faze the strange woman! Her only reaction is a slight cooling of her expression, and a fall in her shoulders. “Oh my, this is a problem. You don’t want to do that, sir. Harming me would be a… costly mistake.”

Hope opens his mouth to speak, but the tall stranger interrupts, “You assume bandits are made of men. But I can assure you, a woman is just as capable.” He cocks the pistol. “Where is the other one?”

“Funny you should mention a woman,” the young lady coos, a very slight smirk curving at her lip. Her grass-green eyes hold all of her power within, and they burn into the door just in front of her. The door to the first-class car.

Hope follows her gaze, terrified. Her accomplice must have disguised themself as a terrified victim! And this woman was merely a distraction while they slipped past!

“Vanille—!”

Before either of the men can move, there’s a third gunshot from the first-class car, followed by a loud _thump._ A woman screams.

“Go,” Ben urges.

Hope wastes no time. He runs into the car, only to find a masked man clutching his shoulder—and a smoking gun in Vanille’s hand.

She shakes profusely, not even eased as Hope breathlessly pulls her into his arms. Their hearts race as she mutters, “It was in the coat pocket. I… I saw him moving. He was going to hurt Mr. Katzroy… I couldn’t…”

Hope holds her very close and rubs her back to try and ease her distress, but his own heart is aiming to jump out his throat. “It’s alright,” he assures her. “Don’t fret, it’s alright…”

The masked bandit begins to rise, groaning as he points a pistol in their direction, but not before another bullet rips through his leg, sending him and the gun crashing back down.

Ben, dragging the woman with him, tosses her into the adjacent seat. At the sight of her companion comes a flicker of genuine fear.

Hope settles Vanille back down into the seat, then raises his weapon once more, of course standing protectively in front of his vulnerable wife. However, being more of a learning man than an experienced one, he waits for direction from the helpful stranger.

Ben sighs at the despicable sight, but feels responsible nonetheless. He notices the husband waiting for his call. Doubting that there are any more accomplices, he levels the pistol at the woman anew, but turns his chin to Hope. “What’s your name?”

Not expecting such a mundane question in this high-pressure situation, Hope stutters a bit when he answers, “H-Hope, Hope Estheim.”

“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Estheim, I suggest one of you go and check on your friend. Alert him to the issue and he will have these two put away,” he instructs, his deep voice calm. It would seem that this is not the first time he has been in such a situation.

But Hope is torn. Going himself will leave Vanille and the baby here with dangerous strangers, but having her go ahead to Sazh will send her to the engine, where the heat and fumes are dangerous for her as well.

He elects that the engine is the lesser of the two evils at the moment, as much as he hates the decision. “Vanille, will you?”

Vanille, slightly shaken yet empowered by what just occurred, starts to shuffle towards the door, but stops and turns to the stranger. “Wait. Who are you…?”

“In good time, ma’am,” he replies politely. “We should deal with these bandits before making proper introductions, don’t you think?”

“Oh… right,” she murmurs, taking care as she heads to the front.

Hope watches her until her disappearance and approaches the male counterpart with a vicious blue in his eye. He steps on the man’s leg, right over the wound, letting anger swarm like insects in his voice. “You would shoot a pregnant _woman?”_

The man groans and grits his teeth, narrowing his eyes at Hope, who’s clearly a city boy. “Would _you?_ Your friend there has a gun pointed to my wife’s head!”

“Noel,” the woman sighs, frowning.

Ben blinks, surprised, but does not budge.

Hope sneers, his anger only boiling hotter. “And you would allow a pregnant wife to commit an audacious crime?” he challenges.

Noel spits on Hope’s shoe, still pressed down on his bloody wound. “You insult me. Yeul’s her own, I don’t have to allow anything!” He moves to kick Hope away with his good leg.

Not wanting to hear any more of this, Ben stoops down and jabs Noel in the face, pushing him off the edge of consciousness. Yeul hisses, but they all know she’s defenseless; no one moves.

Soon enough, Vanille returns, followed closely by Sazh. The conductor shoos her quickly behind a seat to hide before approaching the fallen man, Noel, his shotgun cocked and ready. He looks around. “Is anyone hurt?”

Hope shakes his head. “Not that we know of. But there _were_ gunshots. We may have to check the cars for injured passengers…”

Sazh nods, having experienced a few raids in his time. “Okay, you,” he commands the stranger, “take a quick walk through the other cars and see what’s happened. We can deal with this piece of scum ourselves.”

Ben nods, having nothing better to do, and strides through the other cars. The people are bustling, astir with nervous excitement and fear. Some even thank him.

“Has anyone been injured?” he asks them.

Most of the cars answer no, thankfully, the only damage evident a bullet hole in a briefcase. But when Ben reaches the last of the passenger cars, he’s greeted with the metallic stench of blood and a crowd surrounding someone he cannot see.

“Excuse me,” he grunts, following the scent, nudging people out of his path. However, he only finds a pile of blood-stained clothing, lying on a seat. Drops of blood trail out of the car, and as Ben draws closer, he notices that the door has been opened.

He returns eventually to the main car, holding the clothing in his palm. It’s a woman’s jacket. “Another accomplice, I think,” he offers blandly. “Injured. Female.”

In his absence, Hope had returned to Vanille’s side, but Sazh still has his gun trained on the unconscious-but-now-tied-up Noel. He frowns at the news and turns to Yeul, though does not point his weapon at her. “What did you do, ma’am? Or was it him?” he asks, gesturing to her fallen husband.

Yeul smirks, still brave, or perhaps foolish, enough to challenge them. “Hm. You’re wrong. It was the first of your vigilantes,” she divulges smoothly. “I got a good shot in, but she took my gun. Then she ran, right after _you_ came in,” she says, looking at Ben.

Sazh shifts uncomfortably, not pleased with having to interrogate a young woman like this. “Ma’am, you killed that woman. I haven’t seen too many survive jumpin’ from a train.”

“Good thing the train is stopped, then,” she shrugs.

Ben discharges a bullet into her seat, just missing her arm—just _enough_ to get her attention. He resolves to pay for the damages later, but now, curiosity has become him. “What did she look like?” he snarls.

Yeul’s composure is broken only for this moment by instinct, jumping quite a bit when his gun goes off. She then smooths her skirts, takes a deep breath, and cooly replies, “She wasn’t so strange as the woman over there with bright, pinkish hair. Hers was brown, in fact. That’s all I remember.”

Ben scowls, inwardly berating himself for having acted so harshly. It’s just that the feeling he had, that licking sense of intuition… it still lingers. As if whatever, _whoever,_ was on this train was not finished haunting him just yet.

Hope, with his gun held loose yet tight in his hand, steps back over to them and says quietly to Sazh, “How soon do you think we can get moving again? Vanille isn’t feeling well.”

“My men have managed to scope out these terrains. If we keep movin’ now, slow-like, we will be able to continue to the next settlement and clean the undercarriage.”

Hope nods. “Thank you.” He returns to his wife, trying not to become overly protective, but that’s very difficult.

Yeul watches the two, finding herself a bit jealous, but reminds herself that Noel loves her very much, and never puts her in more danger than she can handle.

Meanwhile, Ben sighs and sits heavily into his seat, tipping his hat to cover his eyes. Maybe now he can get some rest.

But before he can, Mrs. Estheim comes close, his coat draped over her arms. She smiles. “Thank you for protecting my husband. May I know your name, now?”

Ben takes off his hat respectfully and sits up straight. “You’re welcome, ma’am. My name is Ben. I’m… not much of anybody.”

“‘Ben,’” she nods, handing back his coat. As he takes it, her smile only widens, revealing small, white teeth. “I hope this isn’t the last we see of you.”

Ben hopes the exact opposite, if only for their own safety, but cannot bring himself to say so to the young mother-to-be. He makes a show of folding his coat. “The world’s a small place, ma’am.”

Vanille remembers her and Hope’s journey overseas from their homeland, their hard work making a life for themselves, the decision to move even further. Wistfully, she sighs, “It feels much bigger to me.”

This woman seems a curious mix of naive and experienced. There’s an innocence in her soul that is strong and prevalent in how she plays herself. Ben can’t help but smile—on the inside. “Then you’re only looking at the forest. You’ll find that the trees are the same wherever you go.”

Vanille takes his warm reception as a sign to sit across from him. Hope seems in want to protest, but settles for guarding the charlatans. The authorities have yet to deal with them. Vanille looks Ben in his dark eyes, sensing a sadness there. “No two trees are the same, I think.”

“Maybe not,” he admits, then nods at her belly, “but even your child will be the same as many other children before. It will cry, it won’t sleep, it will misbehave, and eventually leave your home before it’s ready.”

Vanille braces a hand against her belly, considering him. His gruff and grim demeanor is bracing, but not so dark as he wants it to seem. She senses a gentle soul, striving perhaps for something more.

Hope, on the other hand, takes full offense. “Do you have children, Mr. Solo?”

Ben raises an eyebrow at this one-eighty, but shakes his head. “No, I don’t. But neither do you. Not yet.”

Vanille giggles, genuinely amused, while her husband pouts. This character… he seems suspicious, but not entirely dangerous. Is there a reason for his aggression? She cannot help but wonder.

There’s a sudden lurch as the train finally begins to move again, which washes relief over almost everyone aboard. Vanille gets a second wave. Of nausea. She breathes deeply to keep it under control.

Hope lays a hand to steady her, at which point Ben comes to a sudden, grim realization. “You’ve never been out west.”

“No,” Hope replies, “but we have friends out there once we get that far.”

Ben nods, grunting his affirmation. If they manage to survive out there, this woman’s pregnancy will be the least of their worries. Not wanting to be one of them, he lays back. “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it has been a long evening.”

Hope once again takes offense at his attitude, but restrains himself from biting a comment. Instead, he takes Vanille’s hand. “Come, you need to rest. This has all been too much excitement.”

Ben peeks out from under his hat, watching them retreat, feeling hollow. What sweetness and purity they hold—pleasantries he will never know.

He frowns, stamping down these petty jealousies. He should know by now that there would be no luck in love.

Not for him.

(~*~)

Late that night after everyone is asleep—or appears to be—Yeul is awakened by Noel awkwardly inching his way to sit beside her, grunting in pain. She finds herself feeling irrationally upset, and turns away from him.

He sighs, attempting to hold himself together. Harshly, he whispers, “I’m sorry, Yeul. I got us into this. But I’ll get you out.” He struggles to stand, setting his eyes to the unlocked door. “We could run now. Try again another day.”

Yeul pouts, making herself look younger than she already does. “Can we? They know our names, our faces. You told them I was pregnant—”

“The west is a big place, full of worse criminals,” Noel asserts. “Besides, there’s that bounty hunter you shot to take care of…”

A sigh escapes Yeul, and with it all the anger that had flared toward her husband. “You’re right… She can’t be allowed to follow us.”

With that, they both quickly and quietly leave the slow-moving train, leaving nothing but a pool of blood behind.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like "Dust to Dust" and want to receive alerts on weekly updates, feel free to hit the "Subscribe" button! Comments and kudos are always appreciated by the authors.
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> Thanks for reading!
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> —Avi and Coco


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